


Best Laid Plans

by scarletbegonias37



Category: Looking (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletbegonias37/pseuds/scarletbegonias37
Summary: Patrick & Richie hit a snag in their wedding planning.





	1. Storybook Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story will make more sense if you have seen THE PRINCESS BRIDE, but hopefully it'll be at least understandable either way.
> 
> If you haven't read my previous fic, this takes place in the same (future) universe, but at a different point in the timeline. Richie's father has passed away & he and his mother have reconciled.

It turned out that getting Richie to propose – or agree to any of the numerous proposals Patrick had made – was the easy part. Months later, they still hadn’t agreed on a date, a venue, an officiant, a guest list, or any kind of vague design pattern or theme.

When Patrick first asked Richie what he wanted to do, he simply said he’d like to get married as soon as possible, and that the ceremony could be whatever Patrick wanted. “Come on,” Patrick groaned. “You must have SOME opinions. And I don’t want it to just look like me. I want it to look like both of us.”

“Well,” Richie began, somewhat reluctantly, “It would be nice to get married in a church, and my mom would really appreciate that, but – see? I knew this is how you were going to react,” he gestured to Patrick, who was trying very hard not to roll his eyes or visibly bite his tongue.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” Richie responded flatly. “That’s why I didn’t bring it up.”

“They’re not going to let us get married in a Catholic church anyway, you know,” Patrick spouted, regretting it immediately.  
  
“That’s another reason why I didn’t bring it up.” Richie’s face was tightening up now, showing clear frustration. Patrick’s heart sank. He had vowed, in the very moment that he’d first put the engagement band on his finger, that he was the happiest he’d ever been and that he was determined not to fuck it up and send Richie fleeing for the hills. Not again. He hadn’t even brought up wedding planning at first, but he’d gone and signed up for meditation classes the next day. He was going to stay calm, no matter what. No Bridezilla-ing.  
  
“I’m definitely not DEAD set against it,” Patrick offered tentatively. Richie’s glower stayed on, and he refused to meet Patrick’s eyes, even when Patrick reached over and took his hand in his own. “If it’s really important to you, I’ll think about it. I really will,” he added, lifting Richie’s chin up, to make him look at him. “I’ll look around and see if I can find some places that will work. We’ll talk about it some more after that, after I’ve put together some options.”

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, either,” Richie muttered, and Patrick realized he wasn’t angry, he was worried. His eyes had the sad puppy look that always broke Patrick into a million pieces inside. A person who didn’t know Richie well might think he was always laidback and quiet, unphased. Patrick knew that he was mercurial, prone to strong waves of emotion he was reluctant to expose. Opening him up was rewarding but took work and patience, and he rarely showed anyone his vulnerabilities. Patrick wanted to protect him from everyone, even from his own self.

“Are we actually fighting about which one of us wants to give the other one what they want more?” Patrick smiled gently, and Richie relaxed a little and smiled back.  
  
“I guess we do have a tendency to do that,” he admitted.

“That’s how I know everything is going to work out just perfectly,” Patrick squeezed his hand, and leaned over to kiss him briefly before letting go and grabbing his laptop. “Plus, you’ve given me an excuse to do my favorite thing…well, second favorite thing,” he interrupted himself to wink at Richie over the screen. “Research.”  
  
***

Patrick hung up the phone, exhausted. Dana had just spent the better part of an hour alternatively squealing and nagging into his ear. She was thrilled about the engagement. She was even more thrilled about the prospect of a wedding and “maybe even children, my darling, you know the Davises’ nephew and his partner adopted an adorable little baby girl from China last year and she is just the most precious thing and I have been absolutely longing –“  
  
“We’re not even thinking about that yet, mom,” Patrick sighed, justifying it to himself as a harmless lie. They were in fact thinking about everything, but they were taking one thing at a time, and Dana was going to drive him crazy at every point along that journey. Despite all his fears years ago, she was near-obsessed with Richie. He had introduced himself as “Ricardo” when they first met, and offered her his arm to escort her up the three steps into the restaurant they were entering (“three steps, really, Richie?” Patrick asked later, smiling and shaking his head as Richie winked at him). She had practically swooned while giving Patrick a hard look that said _I can’t believe you were hiding the most handsome and polite man in the world from me, what is wrong with you;_ Patrick shot back a _you made me this way and have no one to blame but yourself and our mutual genetic anxiety disorder_ look.

“Alright, fine, dear. You can’t blame a mother for being excited. My baby boy,” she sniffled suddenly, and then burst into tears. Patrick checked his watch and prepared for another forty-five minutes of calming her down.

She offered to pay for the wedding, the honeymoon, for a surrogate for their baby, and had worked her way up to offering to pay for the imaginary child’s college education before Patrick managed to extricate himself from the conversation. He knew he wasn’t going to accept her money, because it came along with her planning. If he’d said yes, he’d find himself and Richie standing in three-piece morning suits with tails and top hats, surrounded by 5000 white orchids and 500 guests in the First Episcopalian Church of Denver – or more likely, he’d find himself standing alone and crying, because Richie would have gone full-on Runaway Bride. He had a sudden vision of Richie galloping away on a horse wearing a morning suit, flinging a top hat behind him. The thought was both upsetting and disturbingly arousing.  
  
He told his mother he loved her but that it was time for his appointed daily meditation -- “my therapist recommends it and I’m being really careful with my mental health these days”. That much was at least true. He spent ten minutes deep-breathing after the call ended before his heart rate got back to normal.

***

Richie got an earful from Patrick about that phone call, but he just smiled and then grimaced. “I have to tell you something,” he confessed. “I haven’t told my mother yet. And I don’t really know how to go about it.”

“Do you think she’s going to try to talk you out of it?” Patrick replied, concerned. “I know she’s always tried to be accepting, even when your dad was being so tough, and she’s always been nice to me, but…”  
  
“No, that’s not it. It’s that she’s going to flip out. She’s going to want to invite 500 cousins I haven’t even seen in a million years. She’s going to want to cook all the food herself and spend a week making it. She’s going to fight with all the old uncles that tell her I’m going to hell. She’s going to curse out the neighbors if they say something negative. I just – it’s just going to be a lot.” Richie looked queasy, and Patrick wrapped his arms around him on the couch, rubbing his arms in an attempt to get him to ease up his stiff posture.

“Maybe we should just elope,” Patrick joked, although, hearing the words come out of his own mouth, the thought actually sounded tempting.

“We haven’t made it this far just to get hitched at the Elvis chapel in Vegas,” Richie chuckled, letting the tension in his frame relax as he leaned back against Patrick’s chest, closing his eyes. “I’ll tell her. Soon. I just might need you to give me another one of these massages afterwards,” he added, tilting his head back and up to kiss his fiancé.

“Oh – I think – that can be – arranged,” Patrick replied, pausing to give him butterfly kisses between each phrase, then gasping as Richie turned to gently bite and suck his neck, both of them kicking shoes and couch pillows to the floor as they readjusted into a familiar embrace.

***

10 minutes later Patrick had Richie's cock in his mouth, one hand wrapped around the shaft and the other beneath, gently tugging his balls as he bobbed up, swirling his tongue around the sensitive spot at the bottom of the head as he gave a slight twist of his own (for whatever reason, he'd discovered, Richie was quite fond of the slight twist). Richie moaned and arched his back, preparing to thrust forward - they were in pretty much total sexual synch at this point in their relationship, and Richie knew he wasn't going to last long when Patrick was this determined, but he was already mentally planning to fuck the daylights out of Patrick later, once he'd recovered. But he must have shifted onto the remote; the television came blaring on.

 It was The Princess Bride, but Richie didn't know that -- he'd never seen it before. All he knew is a very annoying-looking king was presenting a woman in a white dress to a crowd.

 "...my BRIDE-TO-BE!"

 "Ugh," Richie groaned. "No more weddings!"

 At the same moment, Patrick sucked off of Richie's dick, still jerking him off firmly with one hand and exclaimed excitedly & breathily, "oh, I LOVE this movie!"

 "You have got to be fucking kidding me right now," Richie looked down at him incredulously, pulling the remote from beneath himself & tossing it aside -- at least he meant to toss it aside, but being a little distracted, he accidentally threw it hard enough to hit the corner of an end table, where it broke into several pieces.

 Patrick giggled, still stroking away. "You realize now we have to watch the entire thing because we can't change the channel, right?"

 Richie put a hand over his face and said with admirable patience, "Mi amor, I love you with all of my heart but it would be very nice if you could stop talking and -- OH" he gasped and opened his eyes as Patrick swallowed him down again deeply, to the root. When he looked down, Patrick was looking up at him with pure adoration. Richie came long before the Dread Pirate Roberts reached the Cliffs of Insanity.

 "Good," Patrick smiled, licking his lips and delicately wiping the corner of his mouth with one finger. "This is the good part. Now you can concentrate."

 "It's going to be a little while longer before I can do that," Richie breathed heavily.

***

Afterwards, when they were cuddling on the couch, Patrick realized that although Richie had pretended to take a nap after the swordfighting scene, he was actually enjoying the movie. He chuckled throughout the Billy Crystal & Carol Kane part, and when Inigo finally stabbed the six-fingered man, he sat up halfway and yelled “GET HIM” in his hoarse, sexy voice. When Wesley & Buttercup were reunited near the end, his body shuddered slightly and Patrick leaned over him to see that tears were streaming down his face. “Excuse me, tough guy, are you actually _crying_ right now? You didn’t even want to watch this.”

“I didn’t want to watch it _while_ I was getting my dick sucked, that doesn’t mean I don’t like it,” Richie choked out.

“Just admit that you love my taste in movies.”

“I never said I didn’t! I like everything you like.” Richie nestled back against Patrick, contented.

“Oh yeah? Then how come you made me watch all those karate movies?”

“It’s martial arts, Patrick,” Richie said with dignity, “And you said you liked those.”

“Only because Bruce Lee is hot,” Patrick snorted.

“Shhh, don’t make me laugh, I’m trying to watch.”

Richie continued to weep quietly through the end of the movie (“the little boy just loves his grandfather so much, okay?” he protested when Patrick couldn’t stop giggling, and Patrick wrapped himself around him and squeezed tightly). As the credits began to roll, Patrick pressed his face into the back of Richie’s neck and sighed dreamily.

“I think I’m so in love with you because you’re such a Wesley. He was one of my first crushes,” Patrick gestured at Cary Elwes when he appeared on the screen over his name.

“Really?” Richie pulled Patrick’s arm around him and lightly kissed his palm, grazing the inside of the ring on his finger. “I like his hair, but I was thinking he reminded me of you. I think I’m more of an Inigo Montoya,” he nodded at Mandy Patinkin’s swash-buckling figure as it appeared, “only my accent _es auténtico_ ”, he added wryly.

 “No WAY!” Patrick propped himself up on one elbow and began gesticulating wildly. This was one of his favorite subjects to go off on; he swore Richie only made what he considered these bizarre misinterpretations just to drive him crazy. “How come you never understand who you are in stories? You’re obviously the true-blue loyal farmboy who gets hijacked by the DREAD PIRATE BRADY ROBERTS – hello – and I’m the dumb princess who keeps hoping you’ll come back for me.”

“Okay, but what if Inigo and Wesley are secretly lovers?” Richie smirked. Yup, he was working him alright.

“I’ll take that,” Patrick responded immediately, flopping back down on the couch.

Richie peered back over his shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised seductively. “You just want me to say that line. I know your ways.”

“Oh, will you? Pretty please,” Patrick begged giddily, dimples flashing. “Just once. For me.”

Richie rolled over to face him, pressing their bodies together and running his hand down Patrick’s back. He nuzzled his face against Patrick’s briefly, then looked him in the eyes. “As you wish,” he said softly, then kissed him long, slow and deep. The credits were still rolling; Patrick always forgot the theme song had words.

_My love is like a storybook story_

_But it’s as real as the feelings I feel_

_…don’t you know that storybook loves_

_Always have a happy ending?_

 Patrick only broke off the kissing when the song coming from the speakers switched to Elvis Costello’s cover of “She”, and he caught a glimpse of Julia Roberts’s wide, bright smile on the screen. “Ohmigod, Notting Hill is on next. I love you for breaking the remote on this channel. We have to watch this one too. You’re going to think it’s really cheesy at first but you’re going to love it. Trust me.”

Richie buried his face in Patrick’s chest and mumbled a muffled but happy “Always”.


	2. Friendly Consultations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick & Richie ask around for some advice.

“Just tell him you want to extend the engagement a little longer,” Dom said with his usual sage calmness, shaking sugar into his coffee. “He won’t mind. There’s no rush. Neither of you need to freeze your eggs anytime soon, after all,” he added with a touch of sarcasm.

“No offense, Dom, but I’m not sure I should take your advice on the best way to preserve a long-term commitment,” Patrick replied with a wry tone. Dom was more of a monogamist these days, but he was a serial monogamist. At least his taste in men had improved – they were all age-appropriate and as successful in their lines of work as Dom was. Instead of sleazy one-night hookups with guys who couldn’t buy their own drinks, Dom was more likely to be unavailable because he’d been whisked away to Napa for a wine-tasting weekend with some fancy hotel owner. Patrick considered himself lucky that Dom was around for a classic Sunday diner gab session this weekend.

“This is exactly why Eddie and me just did city hall,” Agustin chipped in, shoving a forkful of eggs in his mouth. “His mother would have invited every Italian west of the Mississippi. We just did it and got it over with. No planning, no problems, no stress. I told my parents by e-mail.”  
  
“That wedding was great, one of the greatest weekends of my life,” Patrick sighed. “But it’s not our style. Richie doesn’t come right out and say it in these exact words but he wants to do something 'unique' and 'romantic', I know it. I just want it to be a nice memory, with nice pictures that we can show our grandkids. But we just can’t seem to figure out the right way to do it. It’s just not coming naturally.”

“So don’t do it,” Agustin shrugged. “Maybe this is the universe telling you something. Maybe you’re supposed to live in sin forever,” he smiled wickedly. “Maybe I’ll finally get Richie to throw out all those Jesus necklaces and join me in the Recovering Ex-Catholics club.”  
  
“Not likely,” Patrick replied. “I caught him praying the other morning. Actually on his knees.”  
  
“I hope you took full advantage of that,” Dom grinned lasciviously, while Agustin hooted and pretended to go down sloppily on the piece of cantaloupe he was eating. “Godliness can be found in many ways, you know, my son,” Dom added in a priestly tone. "Take of my body. Drink ye all of it."

“You guys are the worst,” Patrick shook his head, and chomped another huge bite of pancakes.

“But we love you the most,” Dom and Agustin chimed together in unison.

***

“Ugh, I can’t believe you even want to get married,” Doris rolled her eyes, holding out her baby, an adorable butterball whose real name was Brandon and whom Malik had promised not to call “Chunk” anymore once he was old enough to remember it, with both hands, like a sack of potatoes. “Here, take this for a minute. I need to get ready to nurse.”

Patrick happily took the baby, cooed at him and poked his belly, then looked up and shielded his eyes. “Really, Doris? I thought you’d at least turn your back.” She’d already popped open the buttons on her shirt and exposed one boob, and was lifting her arm to pull on a baby sling contraption.

“Gonna have to get used to even grosser stuff than women's breasts if you’re going to have any of these,” Doris shot back unapologetically. “Here, hand him back before he loses any weight. We can’t have that. We might not be able to bounce him like a basketball anymore,” she cracked, tucking Brandon into the sling and working on getting him to attach.

“Babies are so weird. I really want one,” Patrick said wistfully.

“Well I’d say I’d have one for ya but I already promised Malik he could keep this one and I don’t know if I can go through that whole ‘labor’ thing again.”

“That’s okay,” Patrick smiled. “So you really don’t have any advice about my wedding dilemma? You never thought about it, even when you were a little girl?”  
  
“Standing in front of a bunch of people you barely know in a white satin dress - disGUSting, by the way - pretending you give a shit what they think about your relationship?” Doris cocked her head at him. “Yuck. Not in a million years. Tell you what, though, bring Richie over here to babysit this kid when he’s spitting everything up like The Exorcist and he’ll be willing to put all this stuff off for at least another decade. He'll be ready to forget about all of it, probably.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Patrick said. “But I will see if he wants to babysit, anyway. That would be cute.”  
  
“That’s what you think,” Doris replied. “Just let me know when. Any night is good with me, for literally the next 17 years. Wear an old t-shirt. Or maybe a raincoat.”  
  
***

Richie was quieter than usual, which basically meant he was silent. Agustin waited as patiently as he was capable of. They had ordered tacos, they had ordered beers; Agustin had made all the small talk he could about Eddie and the shelter, and his own current visiting lecturer position at the Art Institute. Richie had nodded politely and murmured an occasional “that’s cool” and “mm-hmm”. The drinks arrived, the tacos arrived, but Richie made no move to touch them, and just kept looking out of the window of the restaurant. Agustin took a swig and figured if Richie still hadn’t started talking by the time he finished the beer, he’d have to confront him.

Richie and Agustin had become decently good friends over the past few years, but they were hardly confidants. They only met up alone for events that neither Eddie nor Patrick were interested in – usually something music-based. They were both huge fans of Morrissey, and also “weirdo artsy punk rock”, as Patrick described it (“too loud”, Patrick held his ears & complained – “can’t dance to it”, Eddie wrinkled his nose), so they’d been to a fair few concerts together. But Richie rarely asked Agustin to meet him for a meal, where they could actually talk. It must be something important.

Agustin was just about to give up and pound the table and yell “OUT WITH IT” when Richie clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at them, his face terribly serious.

“I want to ask your advice about something.”

“Oh really?” Agustin’s eyebrows shot up nearly into his hairline. “Well, this is a first. You’ve never asked me for advice in your entire life.”

“I think you’re uniquely qualified to speak to this.” Richie took a deep breath. “Do you think I made a mistake asking Patrick to get married in a church?”

Agustin stared at him with a look of disbelief for a long moment before tipping his head back and laughing uproariously.

Richie glowered. “I’m being serious. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry,” Agustin tried to calm himself down, still laughing and wiping his eyes. “It’s just…oh god, I thought you were going to say you were going to break up with him again, or something like that, you looked so stern.”

“I would never do that,” Richie objected.

“You’d better not,” Agustin fired back, relieved now. He picked up a taco and took a big bite, continuing to talk through his full mouth. “I can’t go through that again. You don’t know what he’s like. Last time he didn’t get out of bed for about a week. I was wasted the whole time – it was right after Frank & me split up – and I was still in better shape than him. Anyway, THAT was all you wanted to ask?” he cocked his head, reaching for the hot sauce.

“I’m really worried about it,” Richie confessed. “He was so excited to get married, and I feel like I took the wind out of his sails. It was honestly just a suggestion, but he takes everything I say so seriously. He’s like, obsessed with finding the right place.”

“That’s because he’s obsessed with YOU,” Agustin stabbed a pointy finger in Richie’s direction, using the tone he’d used to speak to a student who just wasn’t getting it. “He worships the ground you walk on. If you suggested that it might be nice to get married in Antarctica, he’d be chartering a boat right now. You know this about him.”

Richie sighed. “I do, I guess. I just…I feel like I can’t take it back now, because he’s been trying so hard, and if I say it’s not important he’ll have one of his –“ he paused, searching for the right word.

“Classic Total Patty Meltdowns where he completely loses his shit about how everything has to be just perfect, not even for himself but for you and for everyone else?” Agustin offered. Richie nodded in agreement, relieved that he understood.

“Listen,” Agustin continued, putting his taco down, “I honestly don’t think Patrick cares that much about details. He’s never actually really been one for fancy occasions or dressing up. He just wants to be married…to YOU. It’s all he’s talked about for what, the past two years. I’m sick of hearing it.” He went into a high-pitched imitation of Patrick. “ _How do I get Richie to marry me? When do I ask? Should I surprise him? When do I ask for the fourth time?_” He dropped the tone and added in his regular voice, “you did kind of put him through the wringer on that, you know.”

“I know,” Richie frowned. “But I had good reasons. He rushes things. He always has. He’s gotten a little better about it, but he still sometimes doesn’t think through – the practicality of things.”

“You think?” Agustin responded sarcastically, laughed again. “You two slay me. Some couples have real problems, you know? Like being serodiscordant, or the fact that they can’t afford to live in this city when they’re trying to do good things for it. You guyses’ problems are like, how do I please the other one until he’s actually dying from happiness,” he picked his taco back up and shoveled the last bite into his mouth.

“We’re not perfect,” Richie objected. “We disagree about a lot of stuff.”

“Dumb stuff,” Agustin replied. “But, since we’re on this. Why DO you want to get married in a church anyway?”

Richie took a long pull of his beer, considering how to explain. “I know you don’t believe in God or religion or any of that, but I assume you were raised with it,” he began, cautiously.

“12 years of private Jesuit school, my friend. That’s WHY I don’t believe in God. Although,” Agustin mused, “there were some good times, in a way. My parents really didn’t think through that whole ‘send your horny gay teenage son to a high school with no girls in it’ thing.”

Richie smiled a little, for the first time during the conversation. “Well, I get why you don’t believe. There’s a lot of things the Church teaches that I don’t agree with either, obviously. But – “ he hesitated a bit before continuing. “I know this is going to sound stupid to you, but even though I don’t always believe in the Church, I believe in God. I believe something is watching over me, and I believe it blessed me when I met Patrick. We had no reason to meet. It was a total coincidence. I usually don’t even talk to strangers like that. There was just something about him – it called me to him. I feel like it was…fate. And I feel like God is going to keep blessing us, if we have faith in each other. That’s why I suggested it.”

Agustin was staring at him with a blank look. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, sipping his beer.

Richie grimaced. “You think it’s stupid. I knew it.”

“No,” Agustin answered after a short pause. “I was just thinking about how I spent ten years telling Patrick that perfect gentlemen don't exist and he was waiting for nothing. And then you showed up, and I was SO annoyed.”

“Oh really?” Richie lifted one eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s why I was such a dick to you. I don’t think I was even really conscious of it, but I knew right away that I was wrong, you were fucking perfect for him and you were going to take him away from me. He’d always been there for me, 24/7. And I had to let that go.” Agustin exhaled deeply. He’d held this back for a long time. “Anyway, have you told him that’s why you feel that way about all this?”

“Yeah, kind of", Richie said, twirling his beer bottle around on the table. “We talk about spiritual stuff sometimes. He doesn’t believe the same way I do, exactly, but he believes in a higher power.”

“Really?” Agustin said, surprised. “He never told me that. Although, I guess it makes sense. One time in college we took acid together and he climbed a tree and sang a song to the ‘Mother Goddess moon’. I thought he was just tripping though. He sounded like a cat in heat.”

Richie chuckled, lightening up a little at last. “Yeah. He can’t sing.”

Agustin reached over and patted Richie’s hand lightly, reassuringly. “I think you two are going to be just fine. Now go ahead and eat already. All this talk about love is making me want to go home and fuck my husband immediately.”


	3. A Gentle Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of fluff & then some gratuitous sex that doesn’t forward the plot at all :)

By very early in the spring, they’d decided on at least one thing: they both wanted a small, intimate wedding, as small as they could feasibly get away with. Patrick was the first one to finally say it, but Richie actually audibly exhaled with relief.

“Oh, thank god,” he murmured gratefully, relaxing in bed where they were talking.

“Really?” Patrick said, surprised. “I thought you were going to be mad at me. You kept saying how your mother is going to insist on a big wedding.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want it,” Richie replied. “I hate the idea of all those people staring at me. You know I hate being the center of attention.”

“So do I,” Patrick agreed, and took mock offense when Richie gave him a _really?_ look. “Not for things like this, I don’t like it!” he insisted. “Not for something this important. I would be so nervous, it would ruin the whole thing. We’re always best when no one’s watching, anyway,” he added, wriggling over to snuggle closer with Richie.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Richie sighed, wrapping his arms around him.

***

The problem was that all the cute little historical churches with stone walls, pretty stained-glass windows, courtyard gardens, and so on – all the things that drew Patrick’s eye – in the city were booked up for at least the next six months. Most of the nice, small secular venues were too, or were ridiculously expensive. Megan laughed, but not unkindly, when Patrick complained to her about it on the phone.

“What did you think was going to happen, silly? You need to book a year in advance, especially for the summer and early fall. That’s standard for anyplace decent,” she clucked her tongue at him.

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“Because everyone knows it? You should have just let me plan this, honestly. Or mom.”

“Please. We do not share your taste.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “And you dressed me up in glitter for ten years of my childhood, you don’t get to do it again now. This is not your living Ken doll wedding to play with.”

“I would have kept it tasteful and simple,” Megan protested, adding gleefully, “Also, I would have pitched you to Martha Stewart Weddings magazine and then we would have sponsorships! You two are handsome. I could have sold it!”

“I’m hanging up now,” Patrick said, but blew a loud _mwah_ kissing sound into the phone before he did.

***

Patrick and Richie took a trip up north, near Arcata. Patrick had a friend from Berkeley who’d loaned him her cabin for the weekend – a simple modified A-frame building, with one big lower room, a loft, a small kitchen, smooth polished wooden floors and walls. But it had big modern glass windows looking out over the large creek that wound through the property, and a stone fireplace, and she’d left an enormous pile of neatly cut and stacked wood.

“She’s such a trust fund hippie,” Patrick said a bit apologetically, gesturing to the assorted pile of crystals and candles decorating the mantelpiece.

“It’s perfect,” Richie smiled.

They took a walk through the woods; it was far enough out of town, but not close enough to the Community Forest trail that there were any tourists or other stray people to be seen, just chirping birds and the rushing creek. Patrick talked for a while, pointing out different bird sounds and such, and Richie actually nodded with interest. Nobody had ever been interested in Patrick’s nature talks before, not even when he was a kid, and it was always touching to him. After a while, he adjusted to the quiet and just walked in silence, holding Richie’s hand.

“I love how old the trees are here,” Richie finally murmured. "Cities have been built and fallen apart and they’re still here. Generations of babies were born, got old, died. It makes me feel so, I don’t know, humble.”

“I know what you mean,” Patrick smiled at him.

“It also gives me a lot of perspective. I feel very peaceful here,” Richie stopped walking for a moment, and inhaled deeply. “Hold on for just a moment.” He let go of Patrick’s hand, and stepped over to one of the larger trees, placing one hand on the bark, then leaning in to press his face against it, turned sideways. He closed his eyes briefly like he was listening to it. Then pushed away, brushing a few bits of bark out of his beard as he stepped back to take Patrick’s hand again.

Patrick was looking at him in amazement. “What?” Richie asked, bemused. “Was that weird? I dunno, I just felt like doing it.”

“No,” Patrick said, squeezing his hand, his eyes crinkling up with joy. “It wasn’t weird at all.”  
  
***  
It was a chilly night, and Richie made a gratifyingly impressed face when Patrick quickly and efficiently built a fire in the fireplace, giving a golf clap while Patrick washed his hands free of the soot, and warmed them against the growing flames.

“See, Colorado boys are good at something,” Patrick said with a cheeky smile.

“You’re good at a few things,” Richie grinned back and stood up, eying Patrick with a hooded look that he knew well. He could feel himself starting to get hard just from the way Richie looked at him.  
  
“So, what do you want to do now?” Richie asked, walking towards him slowly, with purpose. The cabin had electricity, but no television or wi-fi, and their cellphones barely worked. Patrick’s response would have been the same in any case.

"I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name." Patrick didn't really think about it before blurting it out, but it sounded nice to him. They'd both been so stressed lately, it would be good to get out of their own heads and just connect.

"Hmmm," Richie made a face like he was only pretending to consider it, although he was already obligingly unbuttoning Patrick's shirt. "How about I make you a deal. How about I fuck you until you forget your own name and then remember it again. I like your name," he explained, reaching the last button and pulling Patrick's shirt out of his pants, tracing his fingertips lightly from Patrick's smooth, hard chest back down to his waistline, and gently palming his groin.

"Done. Best deal I ever made." Patrick shrugged his shirt off and tossed it aside as Richie began unbuckling his belt.

Richie paused, holding both ends of the belt and using it to pull them closer, kissing him deeply and then pulling back with a tilt of his head. "Do you ever forget _my_ name when we're fucking?" he asked, with the same playful, teasing tone, grinding his hips against Patrick's.

"No, I'm pretty much screaming it in my head the whole time." Patrick blushed a little.

Richie gave him a cocky grin, stepping back to pull his belt off in a smooth motion. "Sometimes you're actually screaming it out loud."

"Oh god, do I?" Patrick covered his eyes with one hand. "Embarrassing. Our poor neighbors."

"I think they can tell you're having a good time." Richie took his hand away from his face and wrapped it around his back, grasping his other hand and doing the same. "At least, I can tell. And I like it. Anyway, no one can hear us here."

Patrick could feel his entire body tingling with anticipation as Richie backed him up, kissing, towards the bed. He stumbled & lost his footing a bit when they hit it, and thought he'd lose his balance sitting down, but Richie caught & steadied his shoulders. He propped himself up on his hands and lifted his ass as Richie knelt to relieve him of his pants, then slid back, naked, onto the bed, waiting for Richie to join him.

Richie didn't seem to be in a hurry, although his eyes were hungrily raking Patrick from head to toe and back again as he slowly unbuttoned his own shirt. The way he threw it down assertively sent flutters through Patrick; he knew he was about to get worked.

He smiled curiously at Richie, nudging between his legs with one foot, trying to draw him closer. "What are you lookin' at? It's nothing you haven't seen before." He struck a 1940s cheesecake pin-up pose for a moment, bending his knees to one side, turning his ass up, lifting one elbow above his head and fluffing up his hair. But he could only hold it for a second before giggling and collapsing back down again. He noticed Richie wasn’t laughing, though. If anything, he was staring at him more intensely than ever.

"Never really get tired of looking at the most beautiful thing you've ever seen," Richie murmured huskily, undoing his jeans.

"Can't be the most, don't be ridiculous," Patrick said, pausing for a sharp intake of breath as Richie dropped his own pants and stepped out of them. Richie's cock was already throbbing & starting to rise. "I know you own a mirror." He started to reach greedily for it, but Richie had already dropped back down, grasping Patrick's foot in his hand and kissing the inside of his ankle, and Patrick lay back and let him take charge.

Richie stood back up, lifting Patrick's leg with him as he kissed his way up to the knee and tucked his arm under it, reaching under his other knee to do the same, using the grip to slide Patrick into the position he wanted him in as he crawled his way onto the bed. He reached around and massaged Patrick's asscheeks, spreading them as he spread his legs. Wrapping his hands around Patrick's hips, he kissed his stomach, then took his cock into his mouth, just a few strokes, up and down, until Patrick was fully at attention.

Richie rose up to kiss him full on the mouth, tongue exploring him until Patrick could feel warmth spreading to his groin and beyond. Richie dipped back down and began to rim him expertly, with little flicks and soft thrusts, until Patrick was moaning. By the time Richie reached for the lube, Patrick was begging for it.

Richie was still in no rush, though, carefully preparing them both, and enjoying watching Patrick writhe, pleading and promising, under his hand. When he aligned their bodies, he fed himself into Patrick slowly, gently, looking him deep in the eyes the whole time. Patrick felt completely filled by him and completely cared for. When Richie bottomed out, with no space left between them, he held there for a long moment, rocking and rotating his hips to get Patrick adjusted to him before drawing back for the first small thrust.  
Patrick whimpered with pleasure and threw his head back. He never needed to say _more, faster, harder_ to Richie. Richie could have read the way his body reacted in the pitch dark, even if he was deaf and blind. Sure enough, Richie was picking up the pace, rolling his hips in a delicious, steady rhythm. It paid to fall in love with a musician, Patrick thought (not for the first time).

Patrick put one hand up to the headboard to brace himself so he could lift his knees and hips and fuck back up against Richie; with his free hand he reached down and squeezed Richie's ass, spanking it lightly a few times to spur him on. Not that Richie needed any encouragement. The bed was shaking now & Patrick would have been worried that it might break if he wasn't a little more preoccupied by the thought that the top of his own head might blow off.

Richie slid one of his thick, strong arms underneath Patrick's shoulder, giving him the grip he needed to let go of the headboard. At the same time, Richie bent his head to take each of Patrick's nipples in his mouth in turn, licking, sucking, and gently biting them. They'd been hard before, but now Patrick felt like they could cut glass. The rest of his skin felt like it was on fire, melting into hot liquid. Patrick reached to touch himself -- though he wasn't entirely sure it was even necessary at this point, he was rock-hard & ready to burst, two strokes would probably do him in -- but Richie shook his head and reached between them to start jerking him off instead.

Richie's skin was steamy enough that his hair was curling up and falling over his forehead. Patrick brushed it out of his eyes, thinking how amazing he was, how much he wanted to tell him how much he loved him, if only he could catch his breath.

"Hey," Richie huffed with effort, smiling, and Patrick could tell he was thinking the same thing. "Do you remember my name?"

Patrick's lips fell open and he nodded, soft eyes shining at Richie in the dim firelight.

Richie's voice had a little more authority in it this time. "Say it, then."

Patrick's eyes and mouth widened as he gasped and babbled, near senseless, "Ricardo, Richie, my god --" even though he rarely ever actually called him Ricardo and he wasn't entirely sure if the last phrase was just an exclamation or another description for how he felt about his lover. He came so hard he felt sure he would pass out. He was blind, seeing stars.

Richie pounded him relentlessly through his waves of orgasm and joined him not long after, spilling into him with a guttural moan and collapsing against Patrick's shoulder. Patrick still couldn't see or speak, but he wrapped his arms and legs around Richie's back and locked them there, wanting to keep Richie inside him for just a few seconds longer.

Richie whispered, lips brushing against his ear, "Pato. Patrick. In case you forgot." Patrick twitched and trembled, like his orgasm was having aftershocks.

 _Never_ , he thought, though he still couldn't manage to say the word out loud. _Never_.

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters will be added soon. Suggestions & comments welcome. I haven't actually decided where they're going to get married yet!


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